Murder in Mushroom Valley

by Scotty V Casper

  “Oh, you are just impossible; let’s ride. If you were to slip under the belly of Cayuse and start banging your danged head along the ground, I just might not give you any help.” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

  “Amanda, I don’t suppose you’ve noticed the dust cloud way back behind us?”

  Amanda looked back toward the rear horizon and spotted the dust. “Who do you suppose is trailing us?” she asked.

  “Now come on, Amanda; you’re not that dense. Who do you suppose would be trailing us? Did that college education at Brigham Young Academy go to waste?”

  Amanda studiously ignored the barb. “Is it those Apaches?”

  “Hey, there’s hope for you yet. We’ve got to pick up the pace and try to get to those water tanks before they catch up. There’s some ground around there where we can set up a good defense, but if they catch up to us out on this flat land, we won’t stand a chance.”

  “Well then, let’s ride.”

  Bryan was able to get out one last statement in his weakened condition. “There were a dozen of them after they killed your husband, and we have killed seven of them. So there should only be five left. Do you think we can handle them if we reach those tanks?”

  “We’ll have to, won’t we?” Amanda asked.

  They forged on toward a distant horizon with nothing in sight but sand, desert shrubbery, a juniper tree here and there, and the weathered sky with the clabbered clouds overhead. Just before he once again slid into an unconscious state, Bryan found himself thinking, How could anyone ask for anything more than what we have going here?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They reached the water tanks on their back trail before the Apaches caught up, and for that, they were relieved. The weathered clouds had blown toward Colorado and left a smattering of mares’ tails clouds across the sky. The first water tank they reached had a dead coyote. Bryan was on the ragged edge from loss of blood and dehydration. He slipped in and out of consciousness. During one of his waking moments, he was able to tell Amanda what to do about the water situation. Their lips were cracked, their skin was parched, and their eyes were red and irritated from the drifting sand. Moreover, the horses were stumbling and about to drop. Bryan spoke with a barely audible voice. “Amanda, we’ve got water here and we can set up a defense. We can’t risk riding on to the next water tank.”

  Amanda nodded her head in agreement. “I understand, but we really don’t have water—it is contaminated. If we drink it, we will die.”

  “I know how to fix it.”

  “Pray tell.”

  “Okay, go get all the wood you can find. I noticed a dead cedar over yonder. That should provide all the wood we need.” That was all he could manage to say for that go-around.

  Amanda gathered a huge pile of wood, then she shook him awake for further instructions. “If we build a big fire, aren’t the Apaches going to home in on it?”

  “Amanda, it really doesn’t matter; they are going to find us anyway.”

  Bryan rallied his strength for another set of directives. “Clear a three-foot circle and line it with boulders.”

  She handled that chore promptly, but Bryan had gone unconscious again. “Bryan, Bryan, wake up. Now what?” She hated disturbing him, but if she didn’t get the instruction, they—and the horses—were going to die.

  Bryan opened his eyes. “Build a fire. Do you know how to do that?”

  “Of course I know how. As I mentioned before, I used to go camping with my father.” She built a nice fire. “Okay, Bryan, what next?”

  Bryan’s voice was so weak that Amanda had to get up close to hear him. “Fetch those two big pots and a tin plate out of my packs.”

  She swiftly managed that task and then asked, “Now what?”

  “Fill those pots full of water. Put two flat-topped boulders side by side in the fire, leaving a big gap, then put the pots on the rocks and bring the water to a boil. Sorry, Amanda, I’ve got to close my eyes for a piece. I just can’t keep them open.”

  Amanda pulled his hat off and smoothed his hair back with her hand. Even in his weakened state, Bryan recognized the gentle gesture as a thing of sympathy and caring. It had been a long time since a female of any kind had showed him much kindness, and he was touched by it. “You rest for a while,” she said. “I’ll let you know when the water is boiling.”

  “Amanda, look at our back trail. Where are those Apaches? Are we going to have time to purify this water and then set up some sort of a defense? Get my field glasses out of my packs and take a gander.”

  Amanda did as she was told. “Bryan, it still looks like they are about five miles back. Why are they dallying?”

  “Amanda, an Apache is a very patient fighter. They know we ain’t goin’ anyplace.”

  “Well, it’s sure unnerving. I’d just as soon they get up here and we get this thing over with.”

  Bryan managed a smile. If nothing else, the little lady was certainly a trooper. He closed his eyes. “Let me know when the water boils.”

  It took only ten minutes to bring the water to a boil, and Amanda was faced with the task of awakening Bryan for further instructions. She gave his shoulder a gentle push and his eyes popped open. “What, what, are those Apaches on us? Drag me over behind those rocks, and I’ll kill’em with my Winchester. They might kill us, but by the Lord Harry, I’ll be dragging a couple of them across the filmy veil along with us.”

  Amanda had to smile at his outburst. The man was a fighter. “No, there are no Apaches—not yet anyway—but the water is boiling. Now what do I do to purify it?”

  “Take that tin plate, scoop up the hot embers at the bottom of the fire, and dump them in the pots. Fill the pots up about halfway with the embers, and then let it all boil for a piece.”

  “How long’s a piece?”

  “I don’t know . . . ten minutes . . . fifteen minutes.”

  “Yuck, are you kidding? Dump hot coals in our drinking water?”

  “I’m not kidding. Nothing will purify water faster than charcoal.”

  Amanda shuddered. “But the water will be all black and taste terrible.”

  “We’re on a mission to keep ourselves and our animals alive. Yes, the water will taste terrible, but it will nourish our dried tissue.”

  “All right, I’ll do it,” she said, and she then set about dumping the glowing, hot embers in the water.

  “When you scoop up the embers with that tin plate, make sure you don’t burn yourself.”

  “Yes, Father. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  Bryan ignored her barb. With Amanda, one had to do that quite often. “Pick that great big pot out of my packs, dig out one of my old shirts, and drape it across the pot. Then pour the water into the pot. The cloth will serve as a filter.”

  Amanda curled up her nose in distaste. “Is the shirt clean?”

  “No, but I only wore it for about a week.” Bryan tried laughing, but he was too weak to really do a satisfactory job at it. The look on her face was precious.

  “Oh, so you only wore it for about a week? Well, that makes it all right then, doesn’t it?”

  “You know, Amanda, you’re quick to figure things out.”

  “Oh, you. . . .”

  “As soon as you get that first pot of purified water, take it over and water the horses.”

  Amanda shook her head in disbelief. “We’re dying of thirst here, and you want me to water the horses first?”

  “I’ve explained it to you before, Amanda. If those horses die, we die. We can wait a while to get our water. Those animals worked hard carrying us and our packs across the desert, and they need the water first.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll water the danged horses and that old mule first.”

  “That’s a girl,” Bryan said. “But before you water the animals, go and get that set of field glasses out of my pack and take a peek at that group of Indians closing in on us. See where they are now.”

  Amanda did as she was told. “Bryan, you
aren’t going to believe this, but the source of that dust is those three Apache ponies trailing us.”

  Bryan laughed, or at least he tried to laugh. “Good, so get to boiling some more water. Those ponies are going to need water as well.”

  “Grr, I’ll be boiling this dang rancid water until the great dawning.”

  “You’re the one who dressed up like a rodeo queen and came out on this desert to kill Apaches.”

  “Like a rodeo queen? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Where’d you get those blue boots? An Apache can spot those danged things from a mile away. It’s not a good idea to be wearing those boots when your life depends on blending in with the desert to hide from the Apaches. They stand out like a buffalo paddy in a crystal punch bowl.”

  “What a crude thing to say. You are just a horrid man.”

  “No, I’m not horrid, as you put it. I’m just this ordinary, old Western feller who’s grown quite partial to his hair, and I’m hoping to hold on to it. Those bright boots endanger me as well as you.”

  “Well, what would you suggest? These boots are all I have?”

  “Throw the consarned things in the fire and get into my pack and dig out a pair of moccasins that I find useful from time to time. Put them on. They’ll probably be too big, but you can cinch them up tight to your feet and they should work just fine. Then when you finish purifying the water, take off that danged checkered shirt and get rid of that bright-red scarf. You want to wear colors that blend in with the desert.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want me to go around with no shirt?” She stamped her foot.

  “No, when you’ve purified the water, you can put on that shirt you are using to filter the water. It might have a couple burn holes in it, but it should work just fine.”

  That really set her off, and she began to babble as she tried giving him a piece of her mind.

  He cut her short. “Just do it; put on the damnable shirt. Don’t worry, I won’t be trying to peek through the holes at your womanly attributes, what little there is of them. Rest assured, I’m not interested in you in a romantic sense. You’re a might too ganted up for my taste.”

  That got her to stomping and sputtering to beat the band. But, after a time, she got control of herself and started working at her chores. What else could she do? They were in a life-and-death situation.

  Amanda spent the next two hours boiling water inundated with burning embers and watering all the animals. Then she fixed a drink for herself and Bryan. Next, she filled all the canteens in preparation for riding on to La Sal. They got ready for the trip, even though there was some doubt they would indeed be alive to do so. The blackened water tasted terrible, but it was wet and life sustaining.

  “Don’t drink too much,” Bryan warned. “You haven’t had any water for a spell, and you need to take in a little at a time or you will get sick.”

  “Bryan, I’m afraid that even a little portion of this blackened water will make me sick.”

  “Look at it this way, Amanda, it is medicine—medicine you need to stay alive. Didn’t your mother ever give you castor oil?”

  “She did, but still. . . .”

  “Now Amanda, you need to go over and drag that coyote out of the water tank. If someone put that coyote in there on purpose, they are the lowest form of human life. This water can mean life or death for human and animal travelers alike. But if the coyote just up and died in that water, it was darned inconsiderate of him.”

  “I really don’t want to touch the nasty thing.”

  “Just do it, Amanda.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  After the Indian ponies had their water, they joined Cayuse, the lemon silk stallion, and Mule, foraging for what little grass was available in the area. Amanda had hobbled Cayuse, Mule, and the lemon silk stallion to keep them from wandering off too far.

  “Now Amanda, we need to set ourselves up in a defensive position. Let’s get in behind those boulders yonder. They nearly abut up against that long ridge of red rock, so the Apaches can’t get in behind us, and they won’t be able to come in from the sides because this ridge of red rock runs 500 yards in each direction. We can hold them off indefinitely from behind those rocks, and we have water. To get close enough to use bows and arrows, war clubs, or tomahawks, they’ll have to approach us from in front and scamper across two hundred yards of open ground. If they try that, we can pick them off with our Winchesters.” After his rather long speech, his eyes began drooping.

  “Bryan, won’t they have rifles?” Amanda asked.

  “They might, but it’s hard for an Indian to get his hands on a rifle and even more difficult to locate ammunition. They are generally very bad shots because they don’t have enough ammunition to do much practicing.”

  “Bryan, I noticed you have a couple books in your packs. Do you really read Plutarch and Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy?”

  “I do. I always keep a couple books in my packs. It makes camping in lonely places a great deal more pleasant.”

  “I figured you were a little more educated than you let on. But what I can’t understand is why you don’t speak properly all the time. You seem to slip in and out of the vernacular with equal facility. Why?”

  “To get along in this Western land, you have to adapt to the language or the ruffians will jerk some knots on your head just for sport. If I’m talking with a cattleman, I talk like a cattleman. If I’m talking with a miner, I talk like a miner. And if I. . . .”

  “Okay, I get it, and it kind of makes sense—kind of.”

  “Go get the field glasses and keep a lookout for those Apaches.”

  She thoroughly scanned their back trail with the field glasses. “I see a dust cloud. It looks like it is about ten miles back.”

  “That’s probably them. So we should get a visit from them in about three hours, that is, if they are just moseying along.”

  Amanda looked perplexed. “Why would they just be moseying along? One would think they’d be eager to get up here and kill us? After all, we have killed seven of their members, and they can’t be overly happy about that.”

  “An Apache doesn’t look at time like we do, Amanda; they don’t have watches. They are infinitely patient. They know I am hurt and that we have stopped because we aren’t making any dust. For that reason, they are just sauntering along because they know they have us, so why hurry about it.”

  Amanda chuckled. “Maybe they’ll come up and take a drink of that water in that tank and it will kill them.”

  “Not likely, Amanda, because we would ventilate them before they even got close to that water. But they will be wanting some of that water because they are probably running low as well.” Bryan laughed. “If it’s any consolation, after they kill us, they will probably drink that contaminated water and it will kill them. Doesn’t that make you feel all warm and tingly inside?” Bryan chuckled.

  “Not really because, regardless, I’m not looking forward to being killed.”

  “Amanda, if I am gone and it looks inevitable that they are going to capture you, save a bullet for yourself. You won’t want to be taken. If they nab you, it will go one of two ways—both of them ugly in nature. One, they will use you as a woman, savagely taking turns and then eventually torture and kill you or, two, they will take you down into Mexico and sell you on the sex slave market, and you will spend the rest of your short life span servicing those greasers.”

  “How utterly hideous, and you say it to me almost as though you are enjoying the telling of it,” she said.

  “Amanda, I didn’t relish apprising you. What do you take me for? I just decided it was best to lay out the unvarnished truth. This is a time for truths, considering we might be crossing the gossamer veil before long.”

  “You are right, of course. Let me make you some broth, and then you can tell me a little bit about your past life. I’m interested in your backstory. Then I will reciprocate.”

  “I suppose I could swallow a little
broth, but while you’re getting it ready, would you have the grace to close your mouth for a while and let me get some shut-eye?”

  She looked like she had been slapped. Having a meaningful, sensitive conversation with him was highly important. “Yes, I could do that. You are so rude sometimes. I thought we were having an important discussion, that we were exchanging truths?” she snapped.

  “We did. Now let’s be quiet for a spell.”

  That really set her off; they hadn’t done it at all. She came near to having a conniption fit. “Fine, your rudeness. I don’t need to have a nice dialog with the likes of you anyway.” But she rallied and went about preparing for them what just might be their last supper. She got to thinking that she wished she had some strychnine because she’d have been tempted to put a dash of it in his danged broth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After preparing a quick meal for the two of them, Amanda unpacked blankets and helped Bryan bed down behind the bulwark of boulders calculated to protect them from Apache arrows. Soon the sun began sliding behind a red rock rampart to the west, and before long, the ball of fire was gone and it left, in its wake, a starry night.

  Amanda was on watch, waiting for the inevitable attack by the Apaches. She was so scared that her bottom lip was quivering. She couldn’t believe it—a scant week ago, she had been with her family in Provo, Utah and was just days away from marrying Michael. She remembered her last Sunday spent with her loving family there in Provo. They had gotten up and skipped breakfast because it was Fast Sunday. They had all piled into their Spider Phaeton horse-drawn carriage and trotted off to church, laughing and joking all the way.

  The LDS Church was a stately brick structure with a tall steeple, and it was set in relief against the Wasatch Mountain Range in the background. The mountains were a mass of granite escarpments ramming lofty shoulders into the clouds. They rather looked like teeth biting at the clouds. It was a sight of uncommon beauty. They had attended sacrament meeting that peaceful morning and had taken the sacrament—small portions of bread and water passed out in silver trays by twelve-year-old priests who were members of the Aaronic Priesthood. The bread and water symbolized the flesh and blood of Christ, who had died on a cross for all of humanity some 2,000 years before. Amanda had felt the spirit of the Lord that morning, and her contentment with life and her love of family had been palpable.